


unbound

by ndnickerson



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-21
Updated: 2010-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-08 04:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kahlan had known Richard for eight months, had loved him for seven months, three weeks, and four days, when she confessed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	unbound

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-Season 2. Prompt from the Seeker Kink challenge on LJ - Kahlan and Richard find a way to have sexytimes. Twist on the bookverse solution.

Kahlan had known Richard for eight months, had loved him for seven months, three weeks, and four days, when she confessed him.

\--

Their happily-ever-after was never going to come. Once one foe was vanquished, the threat banished to the underworld, another three seemed to rise in its place. Sometimes Kahlan felt that she had lived her entire life traveling from place to place on horseback, sleeping in a camp at night, with her wizard, her Seeker, and the former Mord-Sith at her side. They weren't like her family; they _were_ her family, now.

While Zedd and Cara went to head off the fallout of the latest disaster, Richard and Kahlan were sent to the Wizard's Keep to retrieve a specific book of prophecy, one Zedd needed if they were ever to defeat the rising evil. Kahlan knew the place from her childhood, but the roads weren't safe. Zedd had sighed mightily, admonished both of them to get the book and return as quickly as possible, a clear threat in his furrowed brow and steely eyes. He wouldn't be there to watch them, and a momentary slip on Kahlan's part could eventually, effectively, destroy the world as they knew it.

For the entire week-long journey, Kahlan was tormented with dreams, with the memory of what Richard's skin felt like on hers, the claiming heat of his kiss. Though she had no real memory of being cleaved in two when called back to Aydindril, her imagination could more than make up for the lapse. Richard knew her, knew what it was to be with her, and she had been denied it. She was left with dreams and the knowledge that Zedd would want to flay her alive if she let herself act on their feelings, which seemed to grow stronger by the day, by the mere second.

The Keep wasn't as she remembered it. Books were scattered, some with their pages fluttering open on the floor. Ash and scorch marks radiated from a blasted door. The warmth and laughter were gone with the wizards who had sacrificed themselves to send her to Richard.

From their bindings, Kahlan recognized some of the books as dangerous. "Richard," she began, turning to caution him.

He was staring at one of the books. The symbols writhed under his gaze. Kahlan sucked in a breath to scream, to warn him.

Then a pack of swarthy well-muscled men, their leather creaking as they marched in, surrounding the pair, attacked them. Kahlan recognized the symbols on their gauntlets and armor as the marks of the man, the evil they fought. Kahlan ripped her swords from their sheaths, her body flowing into a fighting stance, sparing a second to pray for Richard's safety.

But the men were surrounding her, and though she could not understand their speech, their intent was clear.

And Richard was gone.

\--

The troops were occupying her palace. _Her_ palace. Kahlan sat cross-legged on the floor of one of the detention cells, her eyes closed. A good ruler always made a secret way out of his own dungeon, but the Confessor's Palace had been constructed many, many generations before her time, and any hidden escape had been lost to history.

She wasn't even wearing her Mother Confessor's dress; she and Richard had been creeping into the Keep, not bluffing their way through. She could only hope that the troops did not recognize her for what she was; she had found no opportunity to confess any of the men before they had been on her.

She would not make that mistake again.

  
_Richard._   


One tear, another, slipped from beneath Kahlan's dark lashes. The Keep was dangerous, unguarded, and she tried not to curse Zedd for sending them on such a dangerous mission. But life itself would become far worse than dangerous if this tyrant's rise went unchecked.

  
_Richard._   


A hulking brute she recognized from the Keep approached her prison, fumbling with a set of keys. She recognized the Sword of Truth at his hip.

In the time it took for her to draw a deep breath, the Con Dar, the blood rage was upon her. Every single one of them would pay for what they had done to Richard, starting with this one.

The soldier glanced behind him, then walked into her cell. She read desire in his eyes, though the plaintive babbling of his speech was surely meant to soothe her, to calm her fears before he struck. Kahlan kept her head lowered, biding her time, though she could feel the rage seething through every vein, every breathing part of her.

He knelt beside her and Kahlan sent a momentary thanks to the good spirits before her hand rose, palm open, quick as a viper, to the man's throat. The power screamed for release and she relaxed her hold on it. Though the Con Dar didn't require contact, she wanted this man to remember her, in that brief flash before he was snuffed out.

His knees buckled and he hit the floor, and Kahlan watched his face, waited for his whispered plea to know her will.

His eyes. His eyes hadn't turned black.

His eyes were suddenly Richard's.

With a cry Kahlan fell back, the blood rage quelling under the wave of horror.

Richard was kneeling before her. Richard. Her love, the only man she would ever love. No one could withstand a Confessor's magic, much less when it was magnified, made ruthless by the Con Dar.

He still knelt before her, but he was gone.

\--

"Kahlan."

When Kahlan opened her eyes, her blurry vision swam for an instant before she could see him again.

She had been poised to leave this place. They had to get back into the Keep and find the book Zedd needed. They had to.

She wanted to curl up in a ball on the floor until she died.

"We have to get out of here," she said, her voice shaking. "Protect me."

"Always," he replied, and her heart managed to sink another few inches. But instead of immediately rising and heading out into the hallway, sword drawn, he crept toward her. "Do I look like myself again?"

_No,_ she thought, her eyes widening.

"What do you mean? You look like Richard. Are you—"

He pushed a lock of hair out of her face. "Whatever was in that book— I don't know what happened. One of the soldiers brushed by me, and when I looked down, I was in his armor, and he was standing over you." His fingertips brushed her cheek. "I saw my reflection—I looked like him. I could speak their language." He shook his head. "But when I came into your cell, you couldn't understand me, could you."

She shook her head, slowly. "It was a glamour," she whispered. "A protective glamour from the book. You— how are you not confessed?"

He reached for her hand, and they rose together. "Confession magnifies love, right?"

She nodded.

"How could I love you any more than I already do?"

Her mouth fell open, and he gave her a wide, sincere grin before marching out into the corridor.

\--

"It was the Con Dar, Richard."

The book was safely in Kahlan's pack, though its size stretched the canvas to its shape. They could not take back the Palace on their own, and her heart had ached to leave it behind, but once they were finished—

They never were finished, though. Sometimes it seemed the world would always be in peril.

Richard looked up at her from the other side of the fire. "You did seem really mad."

"This is no game!" she burst out, her blue eyes flashing. "You should be lost! Over some stupid trick, some stupid words in a long-lost book!"

She rose, panting in anger, leaving her cooling stew by her feet. They were in camp again, as though everything was back to the way it had been. But her world had been shaken, and he seemed to have so little regard for it.

Richard rose, more slowly, setting his own meal aside. "I've had a sense, for a long time," he began, "that we could find a way to be together. I had a sense that your power would not take me. But a sense isn't the same as knowing. When I saw you, when you were reaching for me, I knew what you would do, and I let myself love you, Kahlan. Completely. And we may disagree sometimes, but I thought you understood that I would do anything, anything you asked me to do. I'd bring you the ocean a cupful at a time if that's what you wanted."

For a second she doubted him, doubted that he had been untouched by her power. But those confessed couldn't lie, not to her.

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

"Like asking you to confess me?" As he stepped around the fire, toward her, Kahlan's heartbeat quickened. "I couldn't take the risk that I was wrong. But today there was nothing for me to risk, nothing for me to lose."

Kahlan shook her head. "This— this is unheard of. Kieran and Viviane—"

Richard took her hand, and for the first time, when his skin touched hers, Kahlan didn't immediately tense, redoubling her grip on her magic. "Kieran wasn't a war wizard, Kahlan. And Viviane wasn't you."

She had already tried to confess him. She had held absolutely nothing back; the Con Dar sought total destruction, and she had unleashed it. A mere glamour could not have protected him from it.

He was right. Her power had found its match in him.

At the same time they crashed into each other's arms, her mouth eagerly seeking his, the pit of dread in her stomach dissipating. She had feared it for so long that it had to be another lie, one of Shota's tricks, another glamour, something.

But it wasn't. It was Richard. Richard grasping her hips to boost her against him, her legs wrapping around his waist. Richard's hot mouth on hers.

Over their panting, the hush of the wind gave way to a few drops, then a rush of rain, dousing the fire. Richard threw his head back and laughed as the drops caressed his face. As he gathered the remains of their dinner and tossed a spare blanket over Kahlan's pack to keep the book safe, Kahlan, her heart still pounding, scanned the valley before darting to a wayward pine.

"Here," she called.

\--

The night was warm; the rain had left it steaming hot, through their found wayward pine. Even so, she wanted to see this. She had seen him naked before, but not with such bold intent in his eyes.

She still couldn't believe it was actually happening.

He cupped her face in his hands and leaned in, his mouth slow on hers at first, and she parted her lips with a soft moan.

"Marry me, Kahlan," he whispered, as his hands found the hem of her shirt, pulling it up so the fabric slid against her belly. "When all this is done we can go to Westland. Wake up in the morning and see the sunrise."

"Sleep in a bed," she replied, raptured by the thought, as she unbuckled his belt, tugging his shirt out of his own pants.

"Have little Confessor babies."

Kahlan paused, her lips still swelled from his kiss. His face was still aglow, lit by desire. He didn't truly know what it was, to train a Confessor. To teach their daughters to know that they could never have their love returned. To teach them to use, to respect their gift.

But Richard would be their father.

Kahlan licked her lips. "I never had a father," she whispered. "Not really. My mother took a mate. He taught me, out of love for her. But that was the only love he felt."

"Even though you were of her?"

Kahlan nodded, unbuttoning his shirt slowly. "It didn't matter."

He tilted her chin up. "It will matter to me."

Twelve hours ago, this was impossible. Marrying him, living with him. Allowing herself to love him.

With a cry Kahlan launched herself into his arms, needing to feel his skin, fighting the sense that, no matter how much she wanted to believe him, wanted that life with him, their time would be brief. And she couldn't let herself waste a single moment of it.

His shirt came off and disappeared into the nest of blankets at her back. Her shirt came off and he ran his fingertips just inside the curved top of her bodice, barely brushing the rise of her breasts, as he sucked her tongue into his mouth. Their fingers fought at the ties of her bodice, until she gave up, unlacing his pants as he worked at the leather. The skin was firm, taut over his hips; when she cautiously let her fingertips skate beneath his abs, he murmured his encouragement, pushing himself up to give her better access.

"I don't know what to do," she admitted, flushing, as his lips found her earlobe.

"That's okay," he whispered, and she sighed happily as he pushed the bodice apart, freeing her breasts. "I do."

With a soft grunt he grasped her around the hips and rolled onto his back, pulling her so she straddled him. Her breasts hung invitingly in his reach and as she lowered her face to his, he captured one, gently stroking her nipple. She shivered at the sensation, lowering her hips to nestle the join of her thighs against him.

"Just like that," he sighed. When he tugged the bodice down her arms she pushed herself back to shrug it off, leaving her naked to the waist. "You're so beautiful."

She stilled, pushing herself up on her knees, regarding him as she tossed a thick wing of raven-dark hair over her bare shoulder. His flesh was bronzed, gleaming in the firelight, and his smile was easy. There was no nervousness in him; there almost never was. Her gaze traced the wounds of old battles, the pure glory of his taut muscles, and when she met his eyes again, she saw that his gaze was centered on her bare breasts.

He might be the Seeker, but he was still a man.

On her knees she knelt over him again, moving easily when he cupped her ass and pushed her forward, positioning her so one blush-pink, taut nipple teased his lips. She breathed out, shivering with desire as he pulled it into his mouth, and he made some swift movement and when she ground down against him, her desire flushed and roaring through her, all that was between them was the fabric of her own pants.

She moaned his name, her fingers tracing his nipples, his sides, the saddle of flesh that drew her fingertips down to that firm male part of him, her lips crashing down to his again. He squirmed a hand between them, pushing up, and then his hand plucked at her belly button, gliding down beneath the fabric, beneath her panties, between her thighs.

She shivered, sucking in a breath as she pushed her knees apart, Richard's fingers tracing a teasing, tingling path between. She bit his earlobe, swirled her tongue around his adam's apple, feeling powerless, feeling utterly out of control. There was no way she would've been able to hold herself back. No way at all.

"Kahlan."

"Don't stop," she breathed, her teeth grazing the side of his neck.

His chuckle sounded strained. "This isn't all of it," he said, one finger gently brushing up the slit that marked the inmost part of her. "Fingers..."

Although it was incredibly hard, she managed to push herself up on her elbows, to direct a blue-eyed glare down at him. "I've seen— animals," she informed him, affronted, although one brush of his fingertip turned all her limbs to jelly.

"Have you, now, Mother Confessor." His finger dipped a little deeper, a little slower. "And you said you didn't know what to do."

She shook her head, the tips of her dark hair brushing over his bare chest. "That wasn't love."

He nodded, holding her gaze, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he pressed his finger deeper and she shivered, drawing her knees together, hard around his hips as a wave of sheer pleasure crashed over her, centered in that bit of slick flesh his touch had found. She let her head hang, biting her lip and forcing herself to part her knees again, and cried out as his thumb touched the button of flesh and his fingers slid deeper, curving up inside her.

"You want me." Only the faintest question marked his voice.

"Yes," she moaned, flushing despite herself. She was the Mother Confessor. She had learned control from birth, how to contain her emotions, how to keep herself buried. It was all coming apart now, shredded into pieces by desire.

"It may hurt a little."

She drew a hand down his body, taking his erection into her hand, her grip measuring the length and girth of it. His fingers were doing unspeakably wonderful things inside her; she could feel her flesh clenched tight around him. This   
—    
him. Him inside her. Oh yes. The thought filled her with longing, longing tempered by fear.

Richard would never hurt her.

He arched up under her, pressing his fingers in her all the way down to the knuckle, his thumb working a tight circle, and Kahlan sobbed out her encouragement. When she was trembling, her hips moving to join his touch, he pulled back and she cried out in frustration.

"Now," he whispered.

Her hands went immediately to her pants, pushing them down her legs with her panties, and Richard rose with her, his gaze tracing the flickering shadows as they licked down her curves. She met his gaze, desire demanding him, his love, the release only he could give her.

Slowly, deliberately, she scooted over and lowered herself, on her back, opening her legs for him, opening herself to him.

And Richard, her love, her only love, knelt over her, kissing her until she panted not with fear, but with aching desire. He cupped her hips, stroking her inner thighs as she gripped his erection. He would be inside her, one with her. And she would not lose him to her power. She would not. She could not.

"I love you, Kahlan."

"I love you," she breathed, as he pressed down, and she rested her hands at the small of his back as he fitted between her thighs.

She could see each individual pine needle above their heads, burnished orange in the firelight. She could see the halo it made of his brown hair. She could see each bit of stubble on his cheek.

She could feel every inch of her body as he pressed inside her, and she was wet and he closed his eyes, his lips parting as his sex filled the aching hollow of her own. Her body arched under him without waiting for her command, and the angle of him changed and she shivered at the sheer joy of it. Every breath drove him deeper, and it made her sore, but she couldn't stop, not even if she'd wanted to.

"Love."

"My love," she whispered back, running a hand through his hair.

She'd thought it was over, when he found his rhythm, and drew himself out of her, only to push himself back in.

She gave herself over to it, tossing her head back, planting her heels on the blanket so she could twist her hips in answer.

When her inner flesh first tightened against him, drawing a long moan from Richard, her power coiled tight in her, deep in her, and that hard-won control evaporated. When, with a gasp, he collapsed to her, his seed flooding into her in a rush, she felt it explode, felt her heart strain with the force of it, felt it clap and radiate through her skin, enveloping Richard as his body covered hers. With a strangled gasp she felt her first orgasm clench tight, deep between her thighs, as her power, spent, left a void inside her.

When Richard pulled back, she was almost afraid to meet his eyes, afraid of what she would find there. The soft glow of sated desire lit his gaze.

"I can't believe we were afraid of this," he whispered, touching her cheek. His eyebrows drew together. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, speechless. He was still inside her, and she knew that, without him, she would never feel whole again.

"Richard," she finally forced out, her voice trembling. "I love you so much."

Her cheeks were wet with sudden grateful tears. He brushed them off her cheeks. The first Confessor with not a mate, but a love. Her love.

"Always," he whispered, kissing her again. "Always, Kahlan."


End file.
